Strings of a Guitar
by Politics.and.Prose
Summary: ABANDONED. Reread and thought it kinda sucked. Sorry, guys.
1. The Movie Deal

This is Puckleberry. I'm serious. If you don't like the pairing, I wouldn't suggest reading it.

And please don't try to call me a traitor. Those of you who know me know I ship both Finchel and Puckleberry. I'm not jumping on the bandwagon; I'm trying something new.

.**xo**.

Taking a deep breath, Rachel Berry finished her monologue. She quelled the urge to pull her bottom lip between her teeth as she waited for the decision to come back from the casting director and the executive producers.

This film could make or break her career.

With nothing more than the meager savings she had from giving vocal and dance lessons at the JCC, Rachel packed her bags and got onto a train to Penn Station in New York City the day after graduation. She signed the lease on an eight story walk-up in Brooklyn three days after she arrived in the City. (She would never admit to sleeping in the Port Authority for those long three nights.)

And then she started pounding the pavement.

She decided to forego college, much to her fathers' chagrin, and go directly for acting and singing. She was talented, no doubt about that, but so were the five million other fresh-faced young ingénues who had left their very own going-nowhere cow towns in the hopes of becoming the next big thing on the Great White Way.

She didn't get a call back for her first or second Off-Broadway audition, so she took a job at the Dean & Deluca in Rockefeller Center. (Hell, if Felicity could do it, so could she.)

She got a call-back for her third but didn't get the part.

She got a call-back for the fourth but when the role called for full frontal nudity, she bowed out. She wasn't quite ready for that yet.

And then she got a call-back for her fifth audition and she was cast as a chorus girl and then an understudy for the role of June in Chicago.

She got to perform once and didn't step on any of her lines either speaking or singing.

And then she was slipped a card by someone named Margot and two days later she had an agent.

And that was three years ago.

She was escorted out of the room to sit with Sandy Miller, the other young woman who was up for the role.

The two women were exact opposites: Rachel was short, loud and brunette; Sandy was tall, soft-spoken and a redhead.

Rachel thought they would make a great duo for a revival of _Thoroughly Modern Millie_ if the option ever arose.

But this wasn't for Broadway or Off-Broadway. This was for a movie. Rob Marshall was doing an original screenplay about a struggling musician in New York City. (Rachel refused to roll her eyes at the unoriginality of it all. A role was a role and she knew she would be perfect for this one.)

As the thirty minute mark passed, Rachel started getting nervous. That meant they were locked in a stalemate in there and usually, when it came down to people arguing for or against her, she lost.

"They're taking a while," Sandy said quietly as her eyes fixed on her slender hands. "I don't know if that's a good thing or a bad thing."

"I'm sure they're just trying to figure out the right words to tell the one of us who didn't get it. Or maybe they're considering the one who didn't get it for a different role in the film," Rachel said optimistically. She would take just about anything right now.

When the door opened and Jack Witherspoon called her in and told her she'd gotten the role, she nearly collapsed. She couldn't believe it.

But then he dropped the bombshell: "We need you to learn to play the guitar."

"I don't understand," she replied, her brows furrowed. People faked it all the time in the movies.

"We want it to be as real as possible. We're sending some scouts out to see if there's any good local talent who would be willing to step in and teach you what you need to know. Unless you have someone in mind?"

Rachel shook her head no slowly. She knew someone, back in Lima, that was amazing at playing. But she hadn't spoken to or seen him since she left in the middle of their junior year of high school. "No sir. No one."

"Very well," Angela Barton, co-executive producer, sighed. "We'll contact Margot and have her set up your first rehearsal time as soon as we find your teacher. Preproduction has already started. Principal Photography will be next Tuesday. Any script rewrites will be sent to your apartment. You _will_ have to sign for them. My assistant will have your contract over to Margot within the next twenty four hours. As soon as it is back in my hands we can get all of this started," the older woman concluded before closing her notebook. "Congratulations, Miss Berry. You've just had your big break."

.x.

As the lights came up on the dingy stage in the slightly-better-than-a-dive bar on the back streets of Brooklyn, Noah Puckerman scooted his mic stand closer to the stool he was perched on, a thin smile on his face and his guitar across his lap.

"Hey, everybody. How's it goin' tonight?" he asked with a smile. His smile grew wider when he heard the screams of some of his more … devoted … fans.

"Thank you," he chuckled, his voice low ad smoky. "I'm feelin' a tribute to the Boss for tonight. Anyone got any objections?" He grinned again when his question was met with a loud chorus of _hell no_s. "Okay. We'll start off with a little _Working on a Dream_," he told them.

He closed his eyes and started to play, almost wishing he had a band to back him up. But he could rock The Boss acoustic and he knew it.

That was why Springsteen was one of the most prolific singers in his stable.

"_Out here the nights are long the days are __lonely__ / I think of you and I'm working on a dream  
I'm working on a dream / The cards I've drawn's a rough hand darlin' / I straighten my back and I'm working on a dream / I'm working on a dream_," he sang, his eyes closed, the vision of a young girl he hadn't seen in years running to the back of his eyelids without his permission.

He really needed to get her face out of his mind. For good this time.

"_I'm working on a dream / Though sometimes it feels so far away / I'm working on a dream /  
And how it will be mine someday / Rain pourin' down I swing my hammer / My hands are rough from working on a dream / I'm working on a dream._"

He knew it had been a mistake when he agreed to go to her house. Her fathers hadn't even thought twice about it. In that house, he was trusted.

He could never figure out why. He opened his eyes to scan the crowd.

"_I'm working on a dream / Though trouble can feel like it's here to stay / I'm working on a dream / Our love will chase the trouble away / I'm working on a dream / Though it can feel so far away / I'm working on a dream / And our love will make it real someday / Sunrise come I climb the ladder / The new day breaks and I'm working on a dream / I'm working on a dream / I'm working on a dream / I'm working on a dream_."

His eyes were shut again, her face smiling in his mind's eye. He wondered what she would think of him now. Playing in this bar. Showing off his talent.

She was always on his case for not being willing to sing solos or perform in anything other than glee club.

He couldn't stop wondering if she would be proud of him.

"_I'm working on a dream / Though it can feel so far away / I'm working on a dream / And our love will make it real someday / I'm working on a dream / Though it can feel so far away / I'm working on a dream / And our love will make it real someday_."

His eyes opened as the last notes lingered in the air. He smiled at the crowd, gave them a little wink and a wave, and then moved straight into _Born to Run_.

Thirty minutes later he was on a break and sitting at the bar, a bottle of Miller in his hand and a slight grin on his face as he spoke with Bart the Overfriendly Bartender.

"So who is she?" a soft voice asked from his left.

His head whipped around so fast he thought he could have given himself whiplash. The voice sounded so much like …

… a blonde who was definitely not _her_.

"Sorry?" he asked with a smile.

"The girl," she replied. "The one you sang _Working on a Dream_ for. Who is she?"

"No one," he replied gruffly as he gripped his bottle tighter. He brought the rim to his lips and took a long pull before putting back on the bar top slightly harder than he should have. "She's no one."

"Doesn't sound like that to me," she said with a grin. She chewed on her bottom lip (_not as sexy when it's not her_, he thought) and gently ran the tip of her finger over his bare forearm. "But I'm sure I can make you forget all about her," the blonde continued with a husky lilt to her voice and a sexy grin on her face.

Puck stared at her for a moment wondering when exactly the moment came when he stopped hooking up with random hot women.

Oh yeah.

The day the pain got to be too much for Rachel and she left McKinley High and he didn't see her every day anymore.

The day the only girl he ever really cared about (and yes, he could see that now) walked out of his life and never bothered to look back.

He ginned (more like a grimace) at her and politely declined. "I gotta get back up there," he said and nodded to Bart.

"Excuse me," a male voice called from behind him as he tried to make his way back to the stage.

"Yeah?" he asked in an annoyed tone as he turned to see … a dude in a suit. "Am I under srrest for something?"

"No," the older man chuckled. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a card. "Name's Jack Witherspoon. I have a proposition for you."

"Sorry, man," Puck smirked. "I don't bat for the home team."

"As amusing as this may seem, Mr. Puckerman, I can assure you this is not a sexual proposition. But it is a proposition, nonetheless." Jack straightened his tie and gave Puck a smile. "Call me when your set it done. I'd like to speak with you about a possible business opportunity," he told him before turning around and heading towards the door.

"What kind?" Puck shouted behind him.

"Just call me, kid. I promise it'll be worth it."

Puck shook his head and moved back to the stage.

Fucking New York.

.x.

Rachel was on cloud nine. She had inked her first ever movie deal – _movie deal_ – and was now, finally, able to call her friend.

"Pick up, pick up, pick up," she muttered as she shuffled down the stifling streets of Manhattan in the summer.

She was running about fifteen minutes late to meet Mike in Central Park for their weekly jog.

"Rachel!" he shouted when he answered. "Where the heck are you?"

"ETA three minutes, Mike. I had a meeting that ran late," she told him, a grin already splitting her face.

"Didn't know you had a meeting today. What was it for? Was is with Margie?"

"Margot," Rachel responded with a laugh. "But you know that. And, yes. I had a very important meeting with Margot that I simply cannot _wait_ to tell you all about."

"So don't wait!" her friend laughed.

"This is something I just cannot tell you over the phone," she informed him.

"Good or bad news?"

"Best I've gotten in a long time," she shot back quickly.

"You've finally decided to give up on trying to date the men of New York and wanna give a real man a try?"

"No," she laughed. "I see you," she added before shutting her phone and walking up to him. Unable to contain herself, she flew into his arms and wrapped her body around his.

"So, it was really a yes on that last one then?" he chuckled as he patted her back and set her on the ground. "Really, kid. What's the good word?"

"I got the part," she told him, her body literally vibrating with glee.

"The part? As in _the _part? The Gary Marshall part?" he asked, eyes wide, his hands gripping her forearms.

"Uh huh!" he nodded tightly, her enthusiasm bubbling up. "You're looking at the new Ellie Sullivan!" she shrieked loudly, not even caring about the attention she was drawing to herself.

"I am so proud of you!" he cried out as he wrapped his arms around her. "You're going to be a movie star!"

She giggled girlishly as he spun her then requested to be put down. "There's one small glitch though," she told him seriously. "They want me to learn to play the guitar."

"So?"

"Have you ever known me to be patient enough to learn a musical instrument?" she demanded. "Seriously, I can play piano but I was born with a natural affinity for that. But they want me to learn to play guitar." She paused and looked up at him hopefully. "I don't suppose you've somehow managed to learn how to play without me knowing."

"Sorry, Ray," he said with a grin. "I'm a dancer, not a musician."

"Pfft," she remarked. "What good are you to me then?"

"Well, I'll make excellent arm candy for your premiere," he told her as he slapped her on the behind. "Now stretch out. We need to get moving. I have a class tonight at seven."

"Fine, fine," she grumbled. "Slavedriver."

.x.

"It's crazy, Ma," Puck said with a grin as he spoke with her on his cell phone from the conference room in Gary Marshall's rented office building in Midtown. "This guy just came up to me after my first set, handed me his card and said he had a business proposition for me. And it turns out he's this talent scout, well, executive producer, and thinks I play awesome. So then he asks me if I've ever given lessons," he continued. "So, of course, I tell him I've taught some folks here and there …"

"Noah," Ruth sighed from the other end of the phone, "teaching children at the Jewish Community Center hardly qualifies …"

"Doesn't matter, Ma. I got the gig," he said triumpantly. "They brought me in and had me play about ten different songs and then hired me on the spot. So now I'm waitin' to meet my new student. I think it's gonna be like that kid from that movie with that Irish dude who played the horny king on Showtime."

Ruth sighed again. "I'm proud of you, Noah. I'm glad you've found something you're passionate about. I haven't heard you this worked up since …"

"Gotta go, Ma. Someone's knocking," he told her abruptly. He knew _exactly_ where she was going with that and he couldn't deal with thinking about _her_ and that _situation_ when he was about to land his first real gig as someone in the business.

He quickly hung up the phone and stood, turning to face the door. He wiped his hands on his black trousers (yeah, they may be pretty laid back but he was going to make a killer first impression on the upper management) and raised his eyes to see …

… Rachel Berry frozen in the doorway.

"Noah?" she asked quietly, eyes wide.

"Uhh …" he replied intelligently.

Suddenly it didn't matter that he had wiped his hands on his pants.

They were sweaty again already.


	2. Interlude January 2011

**[January 2011]**

Rachel ducked her head and cradled her books to her chest, the only shield she could really put up. She figured if her heart was broken she wanted to put as much distance between it and _him_ as she could. So she wore layers, claiming she was simply cold, and stopped carrying a backpack so that she could protectively hug her books to her body.

She knew it didn't work like that; she wasn't an idiot. But she had to feel like she was doing something, _anything_, to protect herself.

Especially when she saw _him_ looking at _her_ like _that_.

Finn never was one to stay on the rebound for long. He jumped from Quinn to her to Santana to her and now back to Santana again. Seemed like a pattern.

She wasn't sure if her heart would be able to stand another go-'round.

"Well don't you look like someone killed your kitten," Santana said smugly as she grabbed onto Finn's hand when they passed her in the hallway.

"Santana," Finn whispered, his eyes darting to his sad ex-girlfriend. "Not cool."

"Let me make it up to you," she responded with a saucy grin before reaching up and wrapping her arms around his neck. She felt him resist for just a second before giving in and pressing his lips against hers.

When Rachel saw Finn's tongue dart out to touch Santana's bottom lip, she ducked her head and started moving quicker down the hallway.

And that was when the grape slushee hit her in the face.

She was seriously wondering how much more she would be able to take before it all got to be too much.

.x.

As soon as Karofsky reached him, he grabbed the bigger man by the shirt and slammed him against a locker. "Do it again and your face'll meet my fist. And I hit a lot fucking harder than Sam Evans," Puck threatened as he roughly pushed away from the jock and headed towards Rachel. "Rachel! Rach. Wait up," he called.

She paused in the middle of the hall, face, hair and books dripping slushee. "Please just let me clean up first," she asked of him quietly. "Then you can ridicule me or do whatever you want. Just … it got in my eye and it's really starting to burn."

He wanted to take her into the locker room and clean her off but he knew she would never let him do it. Hell, _he_ would never let him do it. He was still a badass and badasses didn't help loser chicks clean off from blitzkrieg slushee attacks.

And ever since Rachel and Finn split it was like the jocks were the Nazis and she was London in the 40s.

(Shut the fuck up. So he liked history.)

"Hey! Q! Go help Rachel clean off," Puck said as he grabbed Quinn by the elbow and directed her to the all-but-broken girl in front of him.

"What? No!" Quinn said as she pulled her arm free.

Rachel swallowed heavily, ducked her head and made her way into the restroom herself.

"Just fucking do it, Q," Puck growled out, his eyes focused on the door Rachel just disappeared behind. "You know I can't so just … just this one fucking time do something I ask you to do."

Quinn scrutinized the look on her ex-whatever's face and then rolled her eyes. "Always wanting the one you can't have. Someday, Puckerman, you'll learn." Without giving him the chance to respond, she spun on her heel and headed into the girls' room.

Rachel stood in front of the mirror, hair already stringy from a combination of the sticky syrup and the water she used to rinse it out, dabbing at her right eye with a wet paper towel.

"Want me to get that for you?" Quinn asked dully, eyes turned away from Rachel, hands on her left hip.

"No, thank you," Rachel said softly, still concentrating on her eye. "I would very much appreciate it if you could just go ahead and get the taunting over with. I'm going to be late for class as it is and I would hate to feel responsible for you being late as well."

"I'm not here to make fun of you," the blonde replied as she stepped further into the restroom. "Puck …"

"Please stop right there," Rachel interrupted. "I'm fine. I've done this a million times. I don't need a babysitter."

"You know, for someone who's always preaching team unity you're sure bad at accepting help."

"Please," the brunette said softly. "I'd just like to be left alone."

Quinn let out a frustrated groan. "I didn't ask to come in here."

"Neither did I," Rachel replied. "So please, by all means, leave. I don't need, nor do I want, your help. I can handle it."

"Are we still talking about the slushee?" Quinn asked knowingly. "Or have we moved on to the giant elephant in the room?" The Cheerio sighed loudly and leaned against the sink. "What did you think was going to happen when you told him, Rachel? That he was going to accept the fact that you kissed his best friend in retaliation? That he would call it even and you would go on being the happy little couple? It doesn't work like that with Finn. Believe me."

"I didn't expect him to break up with me over it," Rachel whispered in response. "And, I mean, it didn't mean …" but she paused and looked to the blonde. "Do you think it meant something that I chose Noah?"

Quinn shrugged but wanted to scream at Rachel that _yes_, it _did_ mean something. The she'd seen the looks that Puck shot to the other girl when he thought no one was looking. She'd seen the small gestures that no one else seemed to put together. He had been the _first_ one to want to attack Jesse after the egging. He'd done so many small things over the last year that Finn hadn't even thought of doing for her.

And then there was Rachel herself. She knew that the other girl would never have intentionally done anything to hurt someone she was dating (until, apparently, she found out about Santana and Finn). But Puck had told her about that stupid video. How she'd told him she was attracted to him. But that wasn't the kicker though. The kicker was that out of the three boys - Jesse, her boyfriend; Finn, the boy she was in love with; and Puck, the guy she kissed for a few days earlier that year – Puck was the one who got the most scenes and the most lines.

Puck was the prominent male in the video.

Puck was her leading man.

But, of course, Rachel and Jesse broke up and 48 hours later Puck was begging to be there when Beth was born and Rachel was kissing Finn.

"I think that you picked the one guy you _knew_ would hurt him the most. And you wanted him to hurt, Rachel. You can't deny that."

"I don't deny it," Rachel said as she slowly dabbed at her shirt with another wet paper towel. "I _did_ want to hurt him."

"You knew it wouldn't make you even, didn't you?" Quinn asked. "You're a lot of things, Berry, but you're not dumb. You knew that what he didn't wasn't wrong, per se. You just didn't like it. Because you and he weren't together."

Rachel sighed and slumped against the sink. "But did it _have_ to be Santana?"

Quinn shrugged as the bell rang. "They both had something to gain from it," she answered.

"And now?" Rachel asked softly.

"Still gaining," Quinn responded as she grabbed Rachel's sweater and handed it to her. "Because this? You? Spending all day walking the halls like a zombie and trying not to cry at every turn? You getting slushied at least once a day? It's solid gold to both of them right now."

"But why?"

"Well, Santana's just a bitch," Quinn shrugged. "But Finn? He's getting to hurt you back." She headed to the door and pulled it open. She glanced back at Rachel and smirked slightly. "Not quite the Prince Charming you envisioned him being, is he?" And then she was gone.

"No," Rachel whispered as her stomach rolled. "He's not."

When she opened the door to see Finn pressing Santana up against the lockers across from the bathroom, she honestly wondered how long it would take for her to completely shatter beyond all repair.

When Santana's hand grasped Finn's behind, she admitted to herself that it probably wouldn't be long at all.


	3. Give a Little Bit

He had a hard time believing that this was his life. A gig teaching some movie start how to play guitar was supposed to be the last thing to break him away from his life in Lima. It was supposed to be him shedding the last of the hold that stupid place had on him. It was supposed to make him successful in his own right.

It was not supposed to throw the only girl he ever really loved, the girl that caused him to sing songs about heartbreak, the girl from Lima, right back in his face.

So, of course the song he has to teach her is something he once considered singing to her, hoping to get her back.

After the debacle with her seducing him (and she did), he realized that he was more into her than he originally thought.

He didn't stop because of Finn, even though he'd told her that was the reason. He stopped because of her and him. He stopped because they were such a dangerous combination, any way you looked at it. They were complimenting opposites: boy, girl; hard, soft; ambitious, laid-back. Badass, good girl.

Mended and broken.

She was pissed at Finn and he knew it. Hell, he knew it the day he walked up to her in the hall, wrapped her arms around his and started talking.

And talk they did.

She told him all about the pain she was feeling, how it didn't hurt so much that he lied but that it had been _Santana_ that he'd done it with.

He told her fucking Santana was something of a right of passage for the guys at McKinley.

(He wasn't surprised when that failed to make her feel better.)

But then it was over before it even began again and she was gone. From glee, from McKinley, from Lima.

But she was still everywhere he turned.

Fast forward four and a half years and here she was, right in front of him, more awkward than back in high school. Her eyes wouldn't meet his and her voice was strained.

At least he wasn't the only uncomfortable one in the room.

An hour into the meeting her agent strode in, handed him her card and told him that someone from the office would call up and set their rehearsal scheduled.

So now he was back in his shitty apartment with his stoner roommate ranting and raving about the girl he thought he might finally be able to get over (yeah, right) and how she was just thrust back into his life and he couldn't do anything about it.

Brent, his roommate, just smiled dopily and murmured, "You said thrust."

"Thanks a lot, asshole," Puck groaned before grabbing his keys and coat and storming out of the apartment.

He pulled his cell phone from the back pocket of his jeans and texted a few of his friends to meet him down at Doyle's. He needs a drink or twelve and he won't be in any kind of state to flag down a cab in Jamaica if he's got anything to say about it.

Fuck his life. If he didn't need the money so badly and didn't want to be somebody in music so badly he would have walked out when he first saw her face.

(And even stone cold sober he doesn't believe his own thoughts. He wouldn't trade the next two months for anything.)

Rachel dropped her keys in the dish by the door of Mike's apartment after letting herself in. She quickly unbuttoned her jacket and hung it on the coat rack (that she'd bought for him when she saw he was hanging his jacket of the backs of his chairs).

She'd just spent an hour with Noah and then two with Margot. She didn't have the script yet so she didn't know exactly what songs she was supposed to learn. Noah told her he would come up with a few and they could start from there. Hopefully he'd start as low as Mary Had A Little Lamb or something. Because she had a feeling learning guitar was going to be _hard_.

Piano? Simple. Drums? Finn (her stomach clenched at the thought of him, even after all this time) had taught her a little.

But guitar? She just hoped she wasn't as abysmal as she was anticipating. She didn't want Noah arrested for homicide.

Hearing Mike puttering around in his kitchen, she called out, "It's Noah."

"Thank God you've finally come to your senses," he said with a wide grin as he walked towards her, wiping his hands on a towel. "When did you figure it out?"

Rachel stared at him for a moment, dumbfounded, before slowly saying, "When I walked into the conference room and he was there with his guitar?" Her brows furrowed. "What are you talking about?"

"Nothing!" he responded quickly, eyes wide. "Nothing at all." He spun to return to the kitchen.

"Michael?" she called warningly to his back. "Explain. Now."

"It's nothing. And it's, like, five years too late anyway." Then she glared at him in the way that always made him cop to whatever it is he foolishly tried to hide from her, he sighed and said, "He was miserable when you left and, you know, I know that … okay. So people kinda just overlooked me in high school, right? So while no one was looking at me, I was looking at them. And for a while, right after You Know What happened, he was looking at you and you were looking at him. But then you left." He paused, his eyes averted for a moment before looking back to her. "And then he didn't look at anyone anymore."

Rachel stared at him blankly for a few seconds before rolling her shoulders and breezing past him into the kitchen. "You're completely insane," she said flatly. "Noah Puckerman wanted nothing more than another notch on his bedpost and I was one of the few girls in Lima that was holding out. I was vulnerable and he wanted to take advantage of that fact just as he did with Quinn."

"Then why did he stop kissing you that night?" Mike asked as he walked up behind her, his arms wrapping around her midsection and pulling her back into the hug he was sure she needed.

Rachel had no good answer for that so she simply shrugged him off. "I'll make a salad. Will Alice be joining us tonight?"

Mike sighed heavily and let his chin drop to his chest. "She's got a late dance class so no," he responded.

He told himself that it didn't matter anyway. There was no way in hell Puck still had feeling for her. No one could hold onto those kinds of feelings after nearly five years of not seeing the other person. It was impossible.

He let his mind wander to Tina, briefly, before shaking his head and moving back over to the stove. "Asparagus?"

"Sure," Rachel nodded as she began chopping the lettuce.

Mike figured that was the end of that conversation.

"Listen, douchebag, I love you but there's no fucking way I'm letting you come out here for the summer," he said hotly into his cell phone as he paced outside the rented studio space where he was supposed to meet Rachel in twenty minutes.

"Noah, c'mon!"

"No, Sarah," he barked back, hand running over his shaved head. "I've got a really busy summer planned with this movie thing. I just … isn't there something else you can do?"

"Aside from an internship with the New Yorker? No, Noah! I'm coming no matter what. I'll find a way to stay in that city." She paused and he could _hear_ the wicked grin. "Maybe I'll call _Rachel_," she sing-songed. "Mom said that she was the one you were teaching guitar to."

"Fucking Mom," he muttered. She really needed to learn what it meant when he said confidential information. "Fine," he ground out, his teeth clenched. "But you're on the couch and you're not going to tell Mom a damn thing about what goes down in the apartment. Deal?"

"Oh please," she scoffed. "Like I'm going to tell Mom you're brining whores back to the apartment. She'd make me give up the internship and I'd be home working on a dairy farm or some shit before I knew what was happening."

The conversation quickly wrapped up after his sister told him she would be there in two weeks with her suitcase and a serious need to forget Lima, Ohio even existed.

He shut his phone and slipped it into his pocket before picking up his guitar case from where he had it leaning against the building. He took a deep breath and opened the door, offering a nervous smile to the receptionist at the desk.

"Hi. Uh, good afternoon. I'm Noah Puckerman. I'm here to work with …"

"Ray's in Studio 5, Mr. Puckerman," the girl smiled. "Cliff will show you back," she continued as she motioned to the security guard standing to her right.

"Ray?" he asked dumbly.

"Rachel Berry," the girl giggled. "Sorry. She's Ray to us. She's in here all the time." The girl smiled as Puck nodded once and headed in the direction the security guard was pointing. "Look forward to seeing you around, Mr. Puckerman."

Puck turned back and offered a weak smile and slight nod before facing forward and following Cliff to the correct studio. He knew that the old Puck would have stayed and flirted, gotten a phone number and fucked the little blonde that night.

He hadn't been the old Puck since a frigid day in February of his junior year of high school.

Rachel had gotten to the studio early to do a little work on the album she was working on as an "Original Case Recording" for the reprise of RENT (for which she would be playing Maureen once the movie shoot was over). It wasn't at all because she couldn't get Mike's words out of her head.

Except for the ones where he'd told her five years was too long to feel the same about someone. Her heart still ached sometimes when she thought of Finn, but those days were few and far between now.

She was pretty sure she had fallen out of love with him the first time she heard him whisper, "Wait until after school, babe," to Santana less than a week into the second half of junior year. (She had just refused to admit it to herself and continued to cling to her love and angst like any good leading lady would have.)

Maggie Fuller, a newcomer, was going to be playing Joanne for the new show and they had just finished rehearsing "Take Me as I Am" when Rachel saw Noah walk into the booth. She smiled weakly and ran through the song one more time. "Sorry, Noah," she said when the last note ended. "We'll be done in a minute."

She watched as he looked for the mic then grabbed it and said, "No problem. Sounded good, Berry."

She smiled, a little more genuinely this time, and asked to run through one more time.

Her eyes shut tightly, she sang with all the heart she had, her mind wandering to Finn, wondering if it would have made a difference if she had sung this to him back in Lima.

She knew it wouldn't have. She knew she'd torn them apart irrevocably. But sometimes she let her mind wander back and fix the situation with What Ifs.

She increasingly thought that Finn may have been her One and that she'd blown it.

Nevertheless, she finished out the song, hugged Maggie, and motioned for Noah to join her in the studio.

He walked in and looked around, hoping one day this would be his life. "Wow," he whispered, his eyes scanning the walls for the gold records hanging there. "Uh, hey," he said to Rachel.

"Good afternoon, Noah," she said with a (not quite) forced smile. "If you'll come this way, we can get out of the recording room. I have a guitar in there."

He follows her, nervous for some reason. He wants to believe it's because she's famous now, in New York, at least, but he knows that isn't true.

He's known the real reason since the moment he saw her in person the other day.

Those feeling from four years, four months and fifteen days ago? The ones he wouldn't admit to himself let alone someone else? They were back.

"Okay," he said a few minutes later, after they were both settled on stools with their guitars resting on their thighs. "I'm going to play a song through, once slowly, with no lyrics. I just want you to watch my hands. Then I'll pick up the speed, no lyrics still. Just keep your eyes on my fingers. Third run through I'll sing. Sound okay?"

"Is it …" she took a deep breath. "Is it going to be hard for me to follow?" she asked softly. "I was never … I can play piano and a little bit of drums …"

(He tried not to think about how she learned the drums.)

"But I've never really been adept at learning anything else."

"I picked something pretty easy for the first go 'round," he told her easily. He was pretty shocked at how well this was going. (He decided he would just ignore the heavy tension in the room in favor of getting this whole awkward day over with. He hoped that in time it would be easier to be around her and not have his mind racing with what-ifs and what-could-have-beens.)

So he played the song through once, slowly, and watched her watch him. (He decided he missed what she looked like when she was watching him.)

He ran through it again, a slight smile crossing his lips when he knew she recognized the song.

Then, without even thinking about it at the time, he started singing a song that pretty much summed up how he had felt then and now.

He strummed the first few notes, took a deep breath and began, "_Give a little bit/Give a little bit of your love to me/Give a little bit/I'll give a little bit of my love to you/See the man with the lonely eyes/Take his hand, you'll be surprised_."

Rachel watched, eyes wide and mouth slightly ajar, as she listened – _really listened_ – to the song. She hadn't heard it in a long while, but when she thought about it, she wondered why she had never suggested he sing it in glee club.

Then she remembered she left and didn't suggest he sing anything since sophomore year.

"_So I'll give a little bit/I'll give a little bit of my life for you/So give a little bit/Give a little bit of your time to me_," he continued, eyes shut gently, feeling the music course from his fingers to his throat and out of his lips. "Now's _the time that we need to share/So send a smile, we're on our way back home_." He really hoped that were true in the moment. Home not being Lima, though, just each others' arms.

"_Ooh yea yea/We gotta feel it/Yea yea yea yea.../Ooo/Don't you need to feel at home/Ooo you gotta feel it/Yea you gotta want to/OO you gotta sing, we've come a long way tonight_."

He opened his eyes and watched her for a moment, fingers still strumming the strings, before clenching them shut once more and belting out the end of the song.

"_So give a little bit/Give a little bit of your love to me/I'll give a little bit/I'll give a little bit of my life for you/Now's the time we need to share/So send a smile, we're on our way back home/Yea come along too/Yea we gotta feel it/Cause I need to feel at home/Come along too/Such a long ride/oo come a long way/Such a long ride_," he sang, his eyes opening to lock on hers.

He couldn't help but feel a thrill shoot through him as he watched her features soften and her lips silently mouth the final words with him.

"_Come a long way/Sing it tonight_."

As the last chord echoed through the room, both sat silently, just staring, breathing a little heavier than it probably should have been.

"That was really good," Rachel said softly.

"Thanks," he responded in the same tone.

Then they both thought that this could either be the worst or best thing to ever happen to them.

She sincerely hoped that it wasn't going to turn out the same way it did the last time she heard him play his guitar.


	4. Interlude February 2011

**[February 23, 2011]**

Rachel was glad the day was over and she could go home. She'd had a Model UN after school and since she had been forced to park in the overflow lot, she decided to take a shortcut through the gym.

All of the sports teams had finished for the evening so she didn't bother to announce her presence (it was rude to enter vaguely unfamiliar surroundings without letting anyone who might be there know that there was another person around).

She pulled out her cell phone to text her Daddy to let him know she would be leaving the school shortly and would be home in time for dinner when she heard a noise.

She furrowed her brow, determined not to let whatever was making the noise distract her, and moved a little quicker. She was almost to the door when she heard a groaned, "San …"

Rachel froze in her tracks, caught between wanting to see what she was fairly certain was under the bleachers and knowing that if it _was_ what she thought it was and she _did_ look, it would probably be the most hurtful, embarrassing and heartbreaking moment of her life.

So, of course, she turned and peered under the bleachers.

And there was Finn, (no longer hers, not for a long time now) pants and boxers trapped at his thighs, one hand gripping one of the supports for the bleachers, the other gripping Santana's ponytail as her head bobbed up and down on his dick.

"Unf!" he groaned and Rachel could see his fingers flex in her hair and grip tighter. "You're so fucking good at that. You were fucking born to suck cock, baby. It's so fucking _hot_," he panted, his head falling back to thunk against the support behind him. "I'm gonna come in your mouth," he told the Latina, his fingers gripping her tighter. "And you're gonna swallow it."

Rachel couldn't stop the gasp from escaping her lips, her hand immediately slapping against her mouth.

But Finn heard her and his eyes snapped open, instantly locking on hers. "Rachel."

Santana pulled off and glared up at him. (Rachel couldn't see her face but she could imagine the ugly sneer crossing the Cheerio's face.) "Don't talk about the midget when I have your cock half way down my throat, Franken-schlong."

"N-no," Finn stuttered. "It's …"

"Shut up," Santana told him. "I wanna finish getting you off so we can go the fuck to Breadstix. I'm starved for more than just your dick," she added before wrapping her lips around him again.

Finn kept his eyes locked on Rachel's before Santana did something (Rachel was certain she didn't want to know what) and he let out a loud moan and shut them again.

Rachel stifled a sob, hand covering her mouth, before turning and running from the gym.

At that very moment, she lost all hope in ever getting back together with Finn.

* * *

**[February 24, 2011]**

Mike frowned as he watched Rachel slowly removing her books from her locker and placing them in her already-full book bag. He adjusted the strap on his own before slowly making his was up to her. "Got a test in everything tomorrow?" he asked with a genuine grin.

She gasped and turned to him, her eyes wide. She looked from him to her bag and back again. "Uhm, no. Just. Just want to make sure I have all of my lessons memorized. You know me," she said softly. "Always have to try to be perfect." She glanced down at a paper she held in her hand, an A written in red with a -2 at the top. "Doesn't seem to work most days though." She cleared her throat and finished putting her books in her bag. "I believe Tina was looking for you," she lied quietly, her eyes cast to the floor. "I'll see you in glee."

"I can walk you to your next class," he said, trying to keep the concern from his voice. "You're in History Honors, right?"

"I appreciate the offer," she told him as she clutched her binder to her chest, her eyes glued to it "but I think I need to use the ladies' room first. Enjoy the rest of your day," she finished in a soft voice before turning on her heel and heading down the hallway.

Mike noticed how the students just ran into her like she wasn't even there. When one of them dislodged her notebook (and he didn't know how that happened because she was practically white-knuckling it), no one helped her pick it up, so she did it herself and disappeared around the corner.

Something wasn't right.

Mike frowned, not knowing what to do, before he decided there was really only one person he could talk to about this who even remotely gave a damn. (Mike knew it was more than just remotely but he wouldn't dream of saying anything to Puck about it.)

So he searched out his friend, who was (of course), flirting with some freshman, a cocky smirk across his face and a wide smile on the girl's.

With a put-upon sigh, he headed towards the pair.

"Yo! Puck! A word, bro?"

Puck turned his attention to his friend and said, "Not now, man. Busy," before bending to whisper something in the young girl's ear, which turned her red.

"It's about R," Mike said meaningfully.

"R?" Puck asked, distracted by the smoothness of the skin on Freshman Girl's neck.

"Rachel?"

"Rachel who?" Puck muttered, his fingertips trailing down the arm of the girl, goosebumps popping up in the wake.

"Rachel Berry, you idiot!"

"The freak?" the Freshman giggled. "Why would he care about her?"

Puck immediately dropped his hand and took a step back. "You should get to class," he told her with a frown.

"Meet you later?"

"You can forget it," he told her. "Get out of here."

The girl scurried away and Mike arched a brow at Puck. "Who was that?"

Puck shrugged carelessly. "What's up with Rachel?"

"I was hoping you could tell me," Mike admitted. "I just talked to her. Sort of. She was taking all her books from her locker and she was just … sad."

"Sad in a Schue-gave-someone-else-my-solo way?"

"More like sad in a I-don't-know-how-much-more-I-can-take-of-this-heartbreak way."

"Fucking Finn," Puck muttered. "Dude doesn't know what he's giving up."

"You were with Santana for …"

"Don't," the mohawked boy responded. "What I had with Santana was nothing at all like what Finn and Rachel were. He's throwing away the best thing that ever happened to him." He groaned in frustration, his fists clenching at his sides, before unleashing a heavy punch against the lockers. "He's such a fucking moron!"

"Puck …" Mike said quietly. "Dude, you need to chill. You can't …" he looked around, happy to see that they didn't draw any attention, "You need to get a grip. What's wrong with you?"

"Nothing. I need to go to class," Puck growled before stalking down the hall, Mike staring after him in shock.

* * *

Most of the glee club was already in the choir room when Rachel arrived at the end of the day.

Mike idly noticed that her bag seemed nearly empty; he wondered what happened to all of her books.

Just as he was about to wave her over to sit with him and Tina, ignoring the dirty look his girlfriend shot him, he saw Finn shuffle over, hands in his pockets and a sheepish look on his face. He narrowed his eyes and got up to walk over to the filing cabinet (which was much closer than his chair) so he could overhear what they were talking about.

"Rach, listen," Finn whispered, "about yesterday …"

"I'm so sorry about that, Finn," she responded quickly, her voice low. "I hope you know me well enough to understand that I never would have intentionally interrupted your … intimate moment … with Santana."

"It wasn't …"

"What it looked like?" she finished, a harsh chuckle escaping her lips. "It doesn't matter, Finn. You and I are not together and it's high time I comprehended that. I've got to accept …"

"Hey, midget," Santana said as she pranced into the room, tucking her hand in the back pocket of Finn's jeans, "enjoy the show yesterday?"

"Like I was telling Finn, I deeply apologize for interrupting your … meeting … yesterday evening. It wasn't my …"

"Okay, guys! Listen up!" Mr. Schue called with a smile as he walked into the room. "Have a seat guys," he directed to the club. Once everyone was seated, Rachel on her own at the far end of the room, he continued, "Since the love songs were such a big hit last week, I thought we could do a couple more today for fun!"

A few of the girls let out a cheer and Santana turned to Finn and said (a bit too loudly), "I think we should sing _I'll Make Love to You_. It's really hot when you act like a chick."

"Mr. Schue?" Rachel called softly as she raised her hand. "I'd like to sing something, if you don't mind."

"We do," Mercedes called out.

"Let her sing," Puck said, attempting to sound uninterested. (Mike thought he failed but Mike knew Puck better than most people.)

"Thank you, Noah," she said softly and tried not to react when she saw Finn drape his arm around Santana's shoulders and roll his eyes.

"This is something of a love song," Rachel said in a small voice as she stood in front of the room. "But I believe it's very appropriate for my situation right now."

"Are you singing _I Kissed a Girl_?" Santana asked. "Because no one's really surprised. Grossed out, of course, but not surprised. Not like any of the guys at this school want you."

"Except Jew-fro," Quinn added with a nasty smirk. "Best you'll be able to get."

Rachel gently cleared her throat and turned to the band. "I didn't give you any preparation and I doubt my song selection has been memorized by you. You do a fantastic job but I think you can sit this one out," she said with a tiny smile.

The hair on the back of Mike's neck stood on end. Something was _really_ wrong.

"This song is called _She's Got You_ and it's by the extremely talented Patsy Cline," she told the group. She shut her eyes for a moment before she softly started to sing.

"_I've got your picture that you gave to me/And it's signed "with love," just like it used to be/  
The only thing different, the only thing new/I've got your picture, she's got you,_" she sang, eyes locked on Finn.

Puck turned his head slightly and saw Finn fidget in his seat and remove his arm from around Santana. _Good_, he thought. _Asshole deserves to squirm_."

"I've got the records that we used to share/And they still sound the same as when you were here/  
The only thing different, the only thing new/I've got the records, she's got you.

Mike scooted forward in his seat, eyes locked on the girl pouring her heart out in song. He wondered how someone so small and so broken could also be as brave as she was. He knew that no matter what, he would never be able to get up there and sing his heart out to a room full of people who barely tolerated him.

He remembered her doing the same thing after that stupid (_awesome_) video she made with Puck, Finn and Jesse last year.

He shook his head minutely. The song was so sad and yet she was composed, not missing a note.

He knew right at that moment that she would be a star."_I've got your memory, or has it got me?/I really don't know, but I know it won't let me be._"

Puck watched Rachel, once again singing to Finn. But it was different this time. It was full of regret and sadness, of course, but it was also like she was resigned to the fact that he was gone.

He almost felt bad for helping her fuck it up.

_Almost_.

But then the memory of her underneath him, gently nipping at his lips, made him wonder if another attempt with her might not be out of the question.

(After she kissed some other dude first. Puckerone was _nobody's_ rebound.)

Rachel took a deep breath, hands clenched at her sides, and sang clearly, "_I've got your __class ring__; that proved you cared/And it still looks the same as when you gave it dear/The only thing different, the only thing new/I've got these little things, she's got you_."

A tear finally slid down Rachel's cheek as she turned abruptly and left the choir room.

Mike glanced over at Puck who shrugged and mouthed "tomorrow". Mike just nodded.

* * *

But Rachel didn't show up for school on Friday.

Puck asked around and the general response was either "who the fuck cares?" or "who the fuck is Rachel Berry?"

The glee kids weren't any help. (It was times like this when Puck kinda missed Tinkerbell. He was a pain in the ass but could get gossip like it was nobody's business.)

He had a game that night but promised Mike (and himself) that he would go to her house on Saturday and make sure she was okay.

He acted like it was some kind of hardship. (It really wasn't.)

* * *

**[February 26, 2011]**

He wasn't sure why he dressed up, if a button-down and khakis was dressed up, but he smoothed his hands down the front of his shirt anyway, before lifting a finger to ring the doorbell.

When JewDad answered the door, Puck put on his best I'm-a-good-Jew-too face and smiled winningly, "Good morning, Mr. Berry. I was wondering if Rachel was home."

"I'm sorry, Noah, but she's not," he said with a slight frown on his face.

"O-oh," he stuttered dumbly. "Will she be home later?"

"I'm sorry," Hiram repeated with a sad shake of his head. "Rachel's left. And she won't be back."

"For how long?" Puck asked with a frown. "Are we talking, like, a week?"

"No," the older man said, his voice shaking. "She's left, Noah. The house, Lima. Ohio. She's gone." He cleared his throat. "For good. I'm sorry," he said again. "I have a trial on Monday, so I really need to …"

"Where'd she go?" Puck asked desperately.

Hiram licked his lips nervously, eyes darting around in an attempt to avoid the younger man's gaze. "She asked that we not disclose her location."

"She what?" he asked, brow furrowed.

"She doesn't want anyone to know," Mr. Berry stressed. "No one."

Puck heard the _and that includes you_ without Hiram saying it.

"How could you let her go?" Puck asked in a thick, angry voice.

"How could you let it get this bad?" Hiram rejoined quietly before shutting the door in Puck's stunned face.

_Gone_, he thought. _For good_.

Puck was pretty certain he was going to throw up. (And when he did so in the bushes next to the Berry family's porch, he felt a sick sense of vengeance because it was all he could do when they wouldn't tell him where she went.)

* * *

"Hi, Bubbe," Rachel said softly as she wrapped her arms around her grandmother. "Thank you."

"Nonsense, Bubbala," Miriam said as she hugged the girl back. "Zayde's in the car. Come. We need to get you settled. We have Temple tonight."

Rachel nodded once before allowing her grandmother herd her to LaGuardia's baggage claim.

_Welcome to New York_, she thought sadly. _Not exactly the way I thought I'd get here_.


	5. Harder Than It Looks

"It's not that fucking hard," Puck sighed in frustration as Rachel nearly broke another - _another_ – string.

"It's not hard for you because you taught yourself, Noah," she responded back in a harsh yet defeated voice. "Even Gwenyth …"

"Who the fuck is Gwenyth?" he asked, his face scrunched up.

"Paltrow, Noah. Gwenyth Paltrow. After she filmed _Country Strong_ she said it was really difficult to learn guitar."

"She's not a music person, though," he argued back as he moved his fingers into place and nodded for her to do the same. "So just," he huffed, "just put your fingers _there_ and …"

"They don't bend like that …"

"That's why you have to _force_ them to do it. Just … use your other … _God_," he huffed out as he reached over and adjusted her hands and necessary. "Just like that. We'll get working on that chord and then we can move on to transitioning to others."

"My fingers are cramping," she told him.

"Listen, I know this is weird, okay? But you don't need to make it this fucking difficult. Just … relax and let the music take over." He strummed a few times and then looked to her. "You try."

She did, and it wasn't terrible. She had trouble with her pick, of course, but it was because she couldn't figure out a comfortable way to hold it yet.

He watched her strum, her brow furrowed in concentration and her bottom lip pulled between her teeth. He always thought it was ridiculously cute that she did that.

He was about to comment when the door to their room opened up and Mike Chang walked in the door. "The fuck?"

"Mike!" Rachel cried as she immediately stopped playing. "I thought we agreed that you wouldn't listen to me play until I could actually make a noise that didn't make birds fly into windows and cats, I don't know, die or something."

"Relax," the Asian boy said with a smile. "I actually came by to see if I could steal Puck for a while." He then turned his attention back to his former friend. "Sorry it took me so long to get in touch. It's been crazy. But I thought we could do a guys night or whatever. Mets are hosting the Reds tonight and I scored two tickets behind home plate. You in?"

"How'd you score the tickets?" Puck asked as he glanced between Rachel and Mike.

Rachel laughed and moved to put her guitar back in its case. "Don't ask him those questions unless you _really_ want to know the answers," she warned. "I'm going to meet Laura for cocktails tonight, anyway. And I think Sandy's meeting us there too. So you boys go have fun," she told them before picking up her purse. "I'll see you tomorrow afternoon, Noah," she added before walking out the door.

"How'd you score the tickets?" Noah repeated with a grin.

"Let's just say I'm not the only one who scored," Mike grinned.

"Tell me you didn't fuck a dude for them."

Mike punched Puck in the arm. "Dude. Fuck no." He paused. "I banged one of the trainers. Girl."

"Then let's fucking go to Queens!" Puck laughed.

"Never heard anyone sounds so happy about Queens before …"

* * *

"So, how's it going with Rachel?" Mike asked as he and Puck took their seats.

Puck shrugged as he shoved his hot dog into his mouth. "Slow," he mumbled around the food. "Every fucking part of her …" he swallowed, "body is fucking flexible aside from her fingers, I swear to God."

Mike arched a brow and took a more modest bite of his own hot dog. "And how, exactly, would you know _that_?"

"Shut the fuck up, man," Puck grumbled as he slammed his shoulder into Mike's. "I don't mean like that. We're not … it's not …" he exhaled slowly. "It's really fucking awkward being around her. It's like we don't know each other anymore."

"You don't," Mike said sagely as he relaxed into his seat. "The second she left Lima you both changed."

"Fuck you."

"I'm serious," Mike laughed as he and Puck stood for the National Anthem. "She was changed when I found her and you …" he whispered.

"Drop it," Puck muttered as he removed his hat and placed it over his heart. "I don't wanna talk about Rachel Fucking Berry today, okay?"

Mike rolled his eyes but nodded, placing his hand over his heart and singing with the crowd.

* * *

"It's not as easy as I thought it would be," Rachel sighed as she flopped into Laura's bed. "Being near him. He brings back so many memories …"

"Memories of your dick ex who banged the skanky ass slut and then lied to you about it and then when it came out and you kiss that fine piece of guitar playing ass he dumped you and started fucking the walking STD again?" her best girlfriend and former Les Mis co-star asked flippantly as she laid on her bed on her stomach, a magazine open in front of her, swinging her legs back and forth.

"Laura!" Rachel gasped in mock horror. "Santana's unfortunate medical history should not be brought into this. She can't help it if she has a physical inability to say no to _anyone_."

Laura shrugged with a smirk. "Was there anyone in your school she didn't fuck?"

Rachel shrugged. "Maybe Artie, but that's only because she usually only fucked Brittany's leftovers when she got permission, oddly enough, and I'm pretty sure Brit vetoed that particular coupling," she replied as she maneuvered herself to look through the magazine with her friend.

"So does this mean you're thinking of asking for another coach?" the blonde asked offhandedly as she ran her finger over a particularly pretty dress.

"Not at all. I mean, it's my first feature film and I can't start making demands. Besides," Rachel continued, pointing out a nice pair of shoes, "I think once we get past the idea that we haven't seen each other in years and focus on work and not trying to figure out how to act around each other we'll be fine. Good, even. And then when the contract is up, we can go our separate ways. And hopefully they'll keep Noah in mind when they need similar services."

"You know, we've known each other since your, what, second audition? And I still don't understand a fucking word you're saying half the time," Laura told her friend seriously. "I mean, what the fuck are you talking about?"

"I just mean that it's only a few more weeks and then we can both go back to our separate lives."

Laura scrunched her brow together and wrinkled her nose. "Is that really what you want? I mean, you still have …"

"Enough," Rachel shouted quickly. "Can we please not talk about him anymore? I see him every day and I'd like on Girl's Night, please."

"Then get your ass in the closet and pick out something black and leather. We're going to fucking Dive Bar, kay? And that wasn't a question."

Rachel sighed and hoisted herself off the bed. "I've already learned that you don't ask for things. Pants?"

"Skirt, bitch," Laura laughed. "I think there's one in there that you bought for that weird Rocky Horror thing you went to with Mike last year."

"How'd it get here?" Rachel asked with a grin as she disappeared into the closet.

"I may have liberated it from your closet that time when I went on that date with Nate."

"Latex-wearing, pot farmer Nate?"

"No," Laura laughed. "Impressionist artist/wanna-be rocker, Nate."

"You date too many guys with the same name," Rachel called over her shoulder.

"You don't date enough!" Laura shouted in response as she climbed from the bed and headed to her dresser. "Black panties or no panties?"

"Black!" Rachel yelled back seriously.

* * *

"That game seriously kicked ass, dude," Puck grinned as he high-fived some random drunk guy as he and make made their way out of the stadium. "Wright was totally on his game and Santana pitched like a fucking ace."

"Totally," Mike responded as he frowned and dug his phone out of his pocket. "The hell?"

"What's up, man?"

"Rachel," the taller man sighed as he typed a response into his phone. "Her girlfriend – not in the Santana/Brittany way – convinced her to go to Dive Bar up on 96th." He exhaled loudly. "They have some of the best tequila in the city. And when Rachel and Laura get together, the tequila flows like it's nobody's business."

"Should we go?" Puck asked uncertainly.

"Hell no," Mike laughed. "But you can come back to my place and wait for them to show up at my place. Rachel usually passes out in the guest room and Laura usually … well, let's just say that I like Laura after she's had some tequila."

"You screw your best friend's best friend?" Puck questioned with a somewhat incredulous smirk. Mike simply arched his brow. "Right. Brit and Satan."

"So … you game?"

Puck pulled out his cell phone and scanned his (completely empty) calendar. "She gonna get pissed that I'm there?"

"Since when do you care how pissed she'll be when you do something?" Mike asked.

"Since high school," Puck said softly as he ran his right hand over his head.

"She won't be pissed," Mike assured him. "She probably won't even know you're there."

* * *

Mike had been wrong. Well, at least a little bit.

The girls dragged themselves into Mike's apartment around one o'clock.

Laura, a smokin' hot blonde with legs to _there_ and a sexy kinda of confidence, grabbed Chang's hand and dragged him into his bedroom. Puck had to stifle a chuckle when he heard her smoky voice say, "Off with the clothes, Jackie Chan. I need some fuckin' Asian sausage."

"She can be so lewd," Drunk Rachel mumbled tiredly as she flopped herself down on the couch. "Are you sleeping here tonight?"

"Would it be okay with you if I did?"

"You going to try to sleep with me?"

"Sleep as in sex or sleep as in share a bed so neither of us have to try to get comfortable on Chang's shitty couch?" he asked as he sat beside her, about a foot of space between them.

"Either," she said. "Both."

"Second," he told her.

She stood up slowly and gently took his hand in hers. "Don't make me regret trusting you, Noah," she said softly.

He refused to acknowledge the flutter in his chest and the butterflies in his stomach. "I won't," he responded quietly.

_I didn't think I ever did in the first place_.


	6. Interlude February 28 2011

[**February 28, 2011**]

Puck had gone straight home after his conversation with JewDad. He told his mother, with no emotion in his voice, that Rachel had left and to tell anyone who called or stopped by that he wasn't home. He spent most of his weekend alone in his room searching YouTube for any of her old MySpace videos. (She deleted all of her social website profiles sometime between Thursday night and Friday morning.) He wasn't successful.

Due to his isolation and refusal to communicate with anyone outside of his immediate family over the weekend, it really wasn't a surprise to see Mike Chang (dude had called eleven times between Saturday afternoon and Sunday night) standing in the middle of his usual parking spot, arms crossed and a heavy frown spanning his face.

Puck scowled and violently waved his hand until Mike stepped aside and let him pull in. "You're such a fucking girl," he snarled as he climbed from his truck to meet his friend.

"Rachel's car isn't here," Mike said immediately. "Is she sick?"

"Gone," Puck replied tonelessly.

"Whaddaya mean _gone_?" the other boy asked as the two made their way to the school.

"I mean done. You know, gone for good. Good and gone. All those gones from that Chris Cagle song. Bye bye, Berry," he responded, agitated. "I mean, whatever Finn did to her fucked her up so bad she took off."

"I tried to figure out what it was all weekend," Mike said as they opened the doors and headed for their lockers. "But …"

"Puck!" Finn called as he strode down the hallway towards them. "Have you seen Rachel? I've been trying …"

Without letting Finn finish his sentence, Puck gripped the front of his (stupid) polo shirt and swung him so his back crashed into the lockers, the impact causing the students around them to gasp and jump away.

"The hell?" Finn cried out.

"The fuck did you do?" Puck growled, his voice low and his face inches from that of the taller boy. "What the fuck did you do to her?"

"I didn't do any- !"

"Bullshit!" Puck cried as he pulled Finn's body from the lockers and slammed him back. "Tell me what you fucking did!"

"Puck!" Mike shouted as he grabbed onto his friend's arm and tried to pull him off their other friend.

Things got more dicey when Finn shoved back.

"Dude! Get the hell off me!" Finn shouted as he shoved Puck (and, in turn, Mike) away.

But Puck went back at him, palms flush against Finn's chest, and pushed the quarterback into the lockers forcefully. "Tell me what you fucking did to her."

"I don't even know what you're talking about!" Finn yelled, his hands moving to Puck's shoulders in an attempt to push him away.

"Rachel!" Puck screamed in his former friend's face, fists tightening in his shirt. "What the _fuck_ did you do to _Rachel_?"

"Guys …" Mike tried.

"I didn't do anything!" the taller boy responded loudly as he pushed back, his own fists now clenching Puck's shirt. "I don't know what you're talking about!"

"Yes you fucking do!" Puck shouted. "She's gone and it's all your fucking fault!"

"Seriously, dude, what the _hell_," he punctuated with a strong push, "are you talking about?"

"_Rachel_!" Puck bellowed. "She's fucking gone!"

Finn actually snorted. "She's not gone," he said dismissively. "She's just acting out. She wouldn't let me apologize …"

"Apologize for what?" the mohawked boy asked, voice low and angry.

"None of your business," Finn responded. "We'll talk it out when …"

Puck silenced him with a right hook. "Tell me what you did to her."

"Puck!" Mike cried as he pulled Puck back.

"Dude!" Finn shouted as he shoved at Puck again. "Back the fuck off."

"Finn, calm down," the Asian said nervously.

"No," the taller boy spat before taking a cheap shot at Puck, whose arms were slightly restrained by Mike. "He wants to start something, I'll end it."

"Big talk," Puck taunted. "Tell me what you fucking did to her already. Then I can start working on how to get her back."

"I didn't do anything _to_ her," Finn said slowly. "But she saw …"

"You fucking _asshole_!" Puck shouted before launching himself at Finn again, not bothering to let the other boy finish his sentence, fists flying and connecting with both Finn and the lockers behind him. "You fucking -!"

"Hey hey hey!" Coach Beiste cried as she rushed over and pulled Puck off of Finn and motioned for Mike to hold Finn back. "What's going on here?"

"He started it!" Finn yelled childishly, finger pointed at Puck as his free hand moved up to gently prod at his split lip.

"What are you, six?" Puck called back. "Gonna tell your mommy on me?"

"If you two don't knock it off I'm gonna hogtie you and put you in little skirts so you can be on the cheerleading team because your little hissy fits sure ain't tolerated on my football team!"

"Fine," Finn muttered, eyes averted.

"Whatever," Puck agreed as he moved from Beiste's grasp.

"Good. Now get to class."

Finn turned to grab his backpack from the ground, shaking Mike off in the process. "Don't worry about it, dude. As soon as she's done feeling sorry for herself she'll come around. She always does."

Puck made sure Beiste's back was turned before landing a final punch to Finn's eye.

The two week suspension would have totally been worth it. He kind of wished he'd gotten caught.

* * *

"She's still not here," Tina griped from her place beside Mike later that day in glee.

"Who?" Puck asked as he dropped into a chair on Mike's other side.

"Rachel," Mercedes answered. "Mr. Schue thinks she's just sick or something. He hasn't been able to get in touch with her fathers."

"They're gone too?" Puck asked as he sat up straight in his chair, eyes fixed on the diva.

"Whatddya mean too?"

Puck opened his mouth to answer but Mr. Schue walked in at that moment, a frown crossing his face. "Hey, guys. Bad news."

"You knock somebody up again?" Santana asked with a sneer towards Puck from her place beside Finn.

"Santana," Mr. Schue said quickly, a look of warning on his face, "this is serious. It's Rachel."

"Did she _finally_ move to Israel?"

"Santana! Enough!"

"Sorry," the Latina muttered.

"What happened to Rachel?" Finn asked.

"She's left McKinley." He allowed the assembled group whisper and mutter amongst themselves, eyes locked on Puck and Mike, neither of whom seemed to take the news as any surprise. Once the chattering died down, he continued, "Her fathers just informed Miss Pills – uh, Mrs. Pillsbury-Howell."

"Where'd she go?" Mercedes asked, a slight frown on her face. "Not that I'm not thrilled about getting more solos …"

"Can it, Aretha," Puck said angrily as he stood. "I hope you're all fu – friggen happy," he continued. "This is all because of _you_," he concluded, finger pointed accusingly at Finn. "She's gone, we're screwed and it's all your damn fault."

"Puck, calm down …"

"No, Mr. Schue!" Puck spat as he turned on his teacher. "I'm not gonna calm down. Finn was a douche and he _broke Rachel_. He broke her, okay? And I don't know what you did yet," he said as he turned back to Finn, "but I'll figure it out." He took a deep breath and turned back to Mr. Schue. "She took a lot of shit from us …"

"Language."

"And something _Fidiot_ did made her _leave_. She's _gone_, Mr. Schue. And you want me to calm down?"

"Yes," the teacher responded with a put-upon sigh. "Because getting mad at Finn won't change the fact that we're down a member for Regionals."

Puck stared at Will in disbelief before shaking his head and exiting the room without another word.

"Puck! Puck, come back here!"

"Geez, Mr. Schue," Mike piped up as he stood. "We lost a member and all you care about is Regionals?" He shook his head and headed for the door. "That's cold."

"Mike!" Tina called out.

"I'll be back," he promised his girlfriend as he exited. "Just need to get Puck."

"I'm not quitting," Puck said as soon as Mike rounded the corner. "I just can't be in the same room with those bastards right now."

Mike nodded. "Wanna bail?"

"Nah," Puck responded as he pushed himself away from the wall. "You go back. Let them know I'll be at the next practice."

Mike nodded once before clapping his friend on the shoulder and heading back to the choir room.

Puck watched his friend go before sighing loudly and heading down the hall that would lead to the parking lot.

He would come back next time, ready to work and win Regionals. But for today, he was just going to be pissed off.

And he needed to figure out what the fuck Finn had done to Rachel to make her run.

Because if he figured that out, maybe he would be able to get her back.


End file.
